


And they were both captains

by perilouslips



Series: "This one time, at training camp..." [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Blowjobs, Boys Kissing, Emotional Turmoil, First Times, Gay crisis, Highly Unreliable Narrator, Idiots in Love, Kuroo Tetsurou is a Mess, M/M, Making Out, Oral Sex, Sexy Blasphemy, Spicy language, Suga is a kiss slut, Underage Drinking, everybody teases Ogano, first names are sexy, handjobs, negative self-talk, solid dose of Suga/Yaku, squints of Bokuto/Akaashi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:54:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26639155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perilouslips/pseuds/perilouslips
Summary: Daichi’s having a hard time trying to lead his team out of the metaphorical wilderness they’re foundering through. Kuroo knows how hard it is to push forward with a team in disarray. He’s just looking to help a fellow captain out of his funk, that’s all.The obvious answer: a rousing game of Spin the Bottle.Genius.[ In which Kuroo Tetsurou learns that the road to Hell is paved with good intentions, but taking action on those leads somewhereverydifferent. ]
Relationships: Kuroo Tetsurou/Sawamura Daichi
Series: "This one time, at training camp..." [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1974928
Comments: 29
Kudos: 106
Collections: Daichi and Kuroo Fics





	And they were both captains

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure if these characters were 18 at this point in canon, but they are for the purposes of this story.  
> I apologize for any style whiplash, I tried to let my writing flow more than I usually allow, so things got a little _experimental_  
>  Do not ask for the dimensions of the classroom, they are non-Euclidean and we’re all just going to have to live with that
> 
> As far as the lack of second and first years for drunk funtime  
> Karasuno: okay but how about Tanaka and Noya, they’re cool  
> Everybody: yeah, they’re also loud as shit and we’ve already got Bokuto to deal with. also _everyone_  
>  Karasuno: you know, that's fair
> 
> [dzesi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dzesi/pseuds/dzesi) is the lovely soul who put a DaiKuro bug in my ear
> 
> and many thanks to [taintednephilim](https://archiveofourown.org/users/taintednephilim/pseuds/taintednephilim), who graciously beta'd this monster

They’re circled up on the floor in a distant classroom, passing a bottle around by the moonlight leaking through the window. Training camp is already half over, so everyone’s some level of wired, and there’s nothing like a sneaky underage drinking party to really get the laughs going.

Though more specifically, the laughs start when the whiskey has already made a round and Bokuto leans against a chair and the scooting noise it makes against the floor sounds a little like a fart.

“Shut up, you stupid fucks, you’re gonna get us caught!” Yaku hisses, but his wrath is impotent in the face of pure, uncut idiocy. Bokuto’s snorting fills the room even with Kuroo’s hands plastered over his face.

Kuroo is doing a similarly piss-poor job keeping his own giggles contained. Suga echoes them across the circle, shoulders shaking, fist jammed in his mouth to hold the waves of hilarity back. Daichi is giving him severe side-eye, which only makes Suga choke harder. Daichi slaps him soundly on the back, mouth set in a tiny frown.

Some people just can’t appreciate humor.

“Maybe they’re having an allergic reaction,” Asahi says. He’s squinting at the label on the whiskey, chewing his lip to shreds.

“Don’t give ‘em an excuse for their Moron-ism,” Ogano sneers, like he hadn’t just been guffawing into his sleeve. He swipes the bottle from Asahi and tips a glug into his mouth, whereupon his eyes bug out. He hacks viciously against the burn.

“That’s rich coming from you,” Goora says, “you can’t even swallow right.” He tugs the whiskey away and takes a measured sip.

Ogano hops to his feet, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Alright you fish-lipped bastard, let—"

One of Akaashi’s legs shoots out, toppling Ogano over with a steady foot to the ass. He turns to Asahi and says, “I do not think it is an allergy, but it might be contagious.”

Nobuyuki hums agreement from his post in a chair against the wall, smile cryptic. 

Kuroo’s face is abruptly smushed into the floor, a leg coming down over his left shoulder. Bokuto makes a strangled noise next to him, jostling against his right as a surprisingly heavy ass settles directly on their shoulder blades. Yaku’s ultimate solution seems to be sitting on them.

Kuroo hears the libero sigh as he relaxes on his human throne, leaning back and digging the heel of his hand into Kuroo’s kidney.

“There’s an idea,” Daichi’s deep voice says. Suga’s muffled squawk indicates he’s met a similar fate.

Kuroo’s arms are trapped across his body, hands still partially on Bokuto’s face, a few fingers definitely in his mouth (ugh). He wrestles up against Yaku’s weight to shift his arms underneath himself and props up into a better breathing position. His eyes fall on his rival captain across the circle, currently reclined across the back of his vice, elbows pinning Suga to the floor.

Contrary to his relaxed posture, Daichi’s face is tense, brows a few millimeters shy of a scowl. Kuroo watches him close his eyes and exhale, smoothing his forehead a fraction.

He’s been doing that a lot the past couple of days.

Kuroo’s been keeping track.

Call it a friendly assessment, regulation for Official Garbage Dump Rivalries. Daichi usually seems unshakeable, but Karasuno’s going through a team-wide transition phase at the moment, and that’s gonna rough up anybody’s mood. This training camp is all about _practice_ and practice _games_ —theoretically also _fun,_ but that probably depends who you ask. Anyone with an ounce of brains knows that playing games is way more fun when you actually win sometimes, and Karasuno’s been doing so many diving drills they’re wearing a groove into the gym floor.

Yeah, everybody does them when they lose a set, but Karasuno’s been taking the lion’s share, so the point stands.

Anyway, part of being rivals in volleyball means watching each other’s backs, or so it says in Kuroo’s rulebook (not a diary, fuck off). So all in all, Kuroo’s just doing his due diligence as a Designated Rival. There’s no harm in keeping an eye on a fellow captain, right?

 _Right,_ Kuroo tells himself, watching Daichi smile as Nobuyuki passes him the whiskey. The expression goes brittle around the edges and crumbles around the mouth of the bottle as Daichi takes a long pull, staring off at nothing as Suga bats at him.

“I am the Beastmaster,” Yaku says to the room, an answer to a question no one asked. Kuroo rolls his eyes.

Smacking deemed ineffective, Suga starts pinching Daichi anywhere he can reach. Daichi’s expression remains carefully blank as he takes another slug of booze, passing the bottle to Asahi before he nabs Suga’s crab hand in mid-air. Suga snarls at him.

“You seem to have experience wrangling beasts yourself, Sawamura-san,” Akaashi says, watching with interest.

Suga growls and fights Daichi’s grip until Daichi manages to twist his arm around and sit on his hand. “Well, my team is nothing if not a handful,” he says blandly.

“Speaking of handfuls…” Suga grins. He wiggles the arm trapped under Daichi’s ass, completely failing to turn his hand over to grope him. Daichi heaves a long-suffering sigh.

Kuroo frowns, chin digging into the floor. Suga sure got the better end of this ass entrapment deal.

“Do you have to be so goddamn heavy?” Suga whines as he continues struggling. “How’s a guy supposed to engage in any inappropriate touching with a boulder ass crushing his fingers?”

“Ah, good old Boulder-Ass,” Kuroo mumbles. Asahi coughs a laugh into his elbow. Daichi’s head swivels around, pinning first his ace, then Kuroo with a Look. Kuroo grins at him.

“How does Yaku-san compare?” Nobuyuki asks pleasantly.

“Piss off,” Kuroo bites.

Bokuto gnarls something unintelligible into the floor.

“Tell ‘em, Bo,” Kuroo says.

“That’s it,” Suga pants against the floor, tone grim. “No choice. I’m gonna have to gnaw my hand off.”

“The only option,” Daichi deadpans, staring off at nothing again.

Bokuto has managed to free his mouth. He cries gleefully, “Oh, like that guy in that movie!”

“Why are you still so fucking loud?” Yaku gripes, shifting the leg that’s hanging over Bokuto’s shoulder and sealing his pie-hole with a well-placed calf muscle.

Bokuto makes a muffled declaration against Yaku’s calf. 

“Bokuto-san is not good at keeping a low profile,” Akaashi translates. He takes a big drink of whiskey and sighs mildly after he swallows. Ogano stares at him open-mouthed as he passes it to Yaku.

“How the hell…”

“You’re clearly a failure as a man,” Goora rumbles, expression placid as he leans back against the wall. Ogano punches him in the arm.

“Well you can’t expect broccoli to achieve human standards, Goora, come on,” Kuroo says.

Ogano snatches up the bottle top and pelts Kuroo in the face with it, then crosses his arms over his chest with a scowl. “I fuckin’ hate you guys.”

Bokuto starts snort-laughing again. Kuroo feels Yaku flinch, butt digging into their shoulders as he coughs a little, voice throaty from the booze. “That feels fucking gross, cut it out.”

Kuroo decides this is a good time to buck as hard as he can, treating the so-called Beastmaster to a one-man rodeo. Yaku’s leg hooks against his neck but too late, and Kuroo dumps him back on the floor. He sits up and rotates his ass-dented shoulder slowly, considering doing a tiny victory lap just to be annoying. But his legs are asleep, so he does a tiny victory somersault instead and stretches out in the middle of the circle.

“That’s Beasts: one, Beastmaster: zip. Olé, motherfucker.” He aims a peace sign in Yaku’s general direction.

Bokuto hee-haws like the jackass he is.

“I almost spilled, you dick,” Yaku grouches at him. Kuroo drops his face to the side to see the libero glaring at him as he rights himself, pointer finger jammed into the neck of the bottle. Smart. Bokuto sits up too and pulls the bottle out of his hands to take a drink.

Kuroo rolls toward them, propping his head on his hand. “Does Yakkun’s finger add some good flavor?"

Yaku flips him off with the hand he’s not sucking whiskey off of. Bokuto smacks his lips a little and shrugs. “Hard to tell.” He tips the bottle into his mouth again.

Kuroo flops back and posts up on his other side, which grants him a front-row seat to the ongoing conflict between Suga and the immovable object known as Sawamura Daichi.

“And how are things over here?” he asks.

“Fuckin’ _peachy_ ,” Suga growls, sweaty cheek plastered to the floor.

Kuroo’s eyes linger a few moments on the place where Suga’s forearm disappears under that firm ass, then trail up Daichi’s strong torso to his face. His brows have re-tangled themselves. Kuroo pokes him in the thigh.

“How ‘bout you, Captain?”

A chuckle wipes Daichi’s face smooth and he turns mild eyes down on Kuroo. “Ain’t your captain, Captain.”

Kuroo grins at him. Daichi grins back and it gives Kuroo a tiny, sweet ache between his ribs.

He wants to stoke that smile till it’s bonfire bright, feed it until it can chase away the shadows under Daichi’s eyes.

In a completely hetero way, obviously.

“I’m bored,” Yaku says behind him.

“Let’s play a game,” Bokuto whisper-yells. At least he’s trying.

Kuroo pushes himself to sitting and snags the whiskey right before it gets passed to Daichi again. There’s not much left in the bottle, but enough that Kuroo looks cool upending the bottle in his mouth and draining it.

His sputtering cough at the end is decidedly uncool, but so it goes—he’s a little too eager to make up for the boozing time he’s lost, sue him. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and waves the bottle at the assembly, bobbing his eyebrows slyly. “Anyone wanna spin?”

Yaku scoffs. “Like anyone’s drunk enough for that.”

“I might be,” Akaashi says calmly.

“No way, Akaashi, you don’t look drunk at all!” Bokuto says, volume control forgotten. He crawls over to stick his face way too close to his setter’s, ostensibly searching for signs of inebriation.

“Well I’ve got just the thing for that,” Kuroo says. He sets the empty bottle down and stretches himself past Asahi to grab one of the two unopened bottles remaining. He gets the lid off and takes a generous sip, cringing at the taste. The label declares it to be rum. Not his fave, but it’ll do.

He closes his eyes against the taste and forces down another gulp, then holds the bottle out, muttering thickly, “Who’s next?”

Abruptly Daichi is beside him, hand wrapping around the neck of the bottle. He tips it into his mouth and takes a big slug, seeming unaffected by the taste. Kuroo sees a bit of tension leak out of his shoulders when he swallows, gazing at the ceiling with half-lidded eyes.

Kuroo takes the rum back immediately and pours more in his mouth. He’s awful thirsty all of a sudden.

Daichi claps him on the back when he coughs up half his swallow and a lung.

“Guess I prefer whiskey,” Kuroo gasps, partially because his esophagus is burning and partially because Daichi’s got those half-lidded eyes fixed on him.

_(um)_

“I’m cool with whatever I can get my hands on,” Suga says, laying on his back now. “Or rather, _hand_ , now that Daichi has flattened one beyond recognition.”

Daichi gives a noncommittal hum. Kuroo bites his lip. 

Suga holds the hand Daichi was sitting on in the air, flopping it around for emphasis. “She’s dead. _Dead_. Gone too soon, lost to the cold and remorseless crush of Daichi’s buns of steel.”

“She?” Ogano asks.

“Don’t encourage him,” Daichi says.

Suga drops his hand down into the space between Kuroo and Daichi’s legs. “Booze might revive her.” He wiggles his fingers.

Kuroo holds the rum out and Suga brightens, hand fully operational in seconds to clutch at the bottle. Asahi pulls the setter to an upright position, and Daichi crawls back to his spot beside his teammates. Suga grimaces at him, rubbing pitifully at his back. “Think you can safely cross ‘masseuse’ off your job options.”

“Dunno,” Kuroo says. He rolls his shoulder again. “Hot rocks are a pretty sweet massage implement. Yo, Sawamura,” he throws Daichi a filthy grin and flexes his fingers suggestively around some thick air, “lemme get a feel for what kind of temperature you’re cooking with.”

Daichi snorts, holding his hand out to Suga for the rum. Suga smacks a high-five into his palm and tosses his head back for a spirited chug-a-lug.

“Weren’t we gonna play something?” Bokuto asks.

“Thought we were spinning the bottle,” Suga says. He coughs delicately into his elbow and continues. “Though I resent the implication that I’ll only kiss my friends if I’m sauced.”

“Truly,” Daichi says, “he does it all the goddamn time.” He doesn’t sound super enthused about it.

Kuroo lays the empty bottle on its side, does a dumb little flourish, and crab-walks backward to regain his stretch of wall next to Yaku.

“Me first!” Bokuto says, barreling forward to give the bottle a swipe. It rolls more than spins, coming to rest in front of Ogano who says, “Aw, come on.”

“Someone has to be first,” Kuroo says. Ogano glares at him, but resigns himself to his fate, eyes clenching shut like he’s about to be tortured.

Grinning widely, Bokuto crawls over and grabs Ogano by the ears, shoving their mouths together until Ogano starts to squirm. He pulls away with a loud smack. Ogano crumples against the wall, dragging his t-shirt up to smear at his face.

“Guess Bokuto really likes broccoli,” Goora says. Ogano kicks him.

“It is your turn, Ogano-san,” Akaashi says.

“Pass,” Ogano grumbles. He shoves the bottle with his foot and it rolls across to Nobuyuki, who calmly stands and crosses the circle before Ogano realizes what’s happening. He flails, but Nobuyuki simply plants a kiss on his forehead and returns to his seat.

Nobuyuki’s spin lands on Yaku. Yaku stands with a sigh, crosses to his teammate, and presents his cheek.

“Boooooo,” Kuroo says, “ _Weak_.”

Yaku rolls his eyes and turns his head, pouting out his lips instead. Nobuyuki smiles and gives him a gentle peck. Yaku takes his turn and follows the bottle’s directive to Asahi, who receives an equally unceremonious kiss.

Suga tuts at him as he crosses back to his spot. “Good thing you’ve got better game on the volleyball court.”

“Seriously, that was super lame,” Kuroo says. Yaku flips them both the bird.

“Honestly, Mori-kun. I can’t just sit here and let this egregious failure go unaddressed.” Suga relinquishes the rum to Daichi at last and stands with the tiniest wobble before stalking across the circle. Yaku’s eyes widen as Suga kneels in front of him, smiling like a murderer. “It’s for your own good,” he says, gently running a finger down Yaku’s cheek. Then he buries his fingers in Yaku’s hair and shoves his tongue in his mouth.

Yaku flinches back, but doesn’t really struggle. Suga must be an excellent kisser because Kuroo is close enough to see the exact moment Yaku’s eyes go hazy and the muscles in his neck relax.

“Wow,” Goora says. He gestures at Daichi to pass the liquor.

“Do we not have to wait for it to be our turn?” Akaashi asks.

Suga dominates Yaku’s mouth for a solid minute, then pulls back with a satisfied sigh. Yaku stares at him dumbly. Suga boops him on the nose. “And _that’s_ how it’s done.”

He rocks back to standing and performs a sweeping bow. Kuroo gives him a snooty golf clap. Asahi and Daichi join him, chuckling quietly.

Suga is a force of nature the Karasuno boys are well acquainted with, so it’s not surprising that Asahi doesn’t freak out when Suga swoops over and straddles him, tilting his face up dramatically. “And you, poor _poor_ darling… Yaku may have cheaped out on you, but I got you, boo.” Asahi sputters in his face and starts laughing in earnest as he tries to fend off Suga’s dogged attempts to land a kiss on his mouth.

The scene proves too hilarious for everyone else to resist snickering along, with the exception of Yaku, who still seems to be recovering from his close encounter. Kuroo takes note of the developing flush on his cheeks for later teasing.

Across the circle, Suga wrestles Asahi almost to the floor, but Asahi gets one of his big hands on Suga’s face. The ace is plenty strong enough to hold him away while he sniggers into his other palm in a vain attempt to keep his volume down. Suga grunts and claws at him. “Lemme smooch, goddamn you!”

“I think I am confused about the rules of this game,” Akaashi says.

“You’re not confused,” Kuroo says, “Suga-chan’s trying to incite revolution here. And I can respect that, but it’s true that this unsanctioned kissing is holding up the game for everyone else.”

“Oh, boo hoo,” Ogano gripes, face sour.

“You could always leave,” Nobuyuki says with a pleasant smile. Ogano just scowls at him.

“Okay, break it up, you guys,” Daichi says. He leans over to his entangled teammates and swats his hand down on Suga’s calf.

“Aww, don’t be jealous.” Suga peels himself off of Asahi and immediately throws himself into Daichi’s lap, who is too slow to do anything but take a mouthful of Suga. He doesn’t seem to react to it the same way Yaku did, but Kuroo’s a little too far away to be sure.

He _is_ sure that watching it happen makes his stomach twist in a distinctly unpleasant way.

Not that it’s any of his business. Also he’s full of gross rum, which might be a factor.

And some people are just kissing sluts. Kuroo could probably get Suga to come over and make out with him too with minimal effort—hey, that’s not a bad idea. It would put his mouth just one degree away from—

_(nope)_

He’s yanked from his thoughts by a garbled “gack!”. Daichi has pinched the back of Suga’s thigh and pushed him out of his lap.

Daichi holds his hand out to summon the rum and swishes a sip around his mouth, staring at Suga with flat eyes as he sprawls theatrically on the floor. “So cold, Daichi,” Suga whines, propping up on his elbows and attempting to pout. Daichi’s lifeless expression quickly sends him into hysterics.

“You’re up, Asahi,” Kuroo prompts, nudging the long-forgotten bottle with his foot.

“Uh… right,” Asahi says, pushing it into a gentle spin. It lands on Suga, because the fates love a good bit. The setter gasps like he’s just won an award and hops up onto his knees expectantly. Asahi scratches at the back of his head and leans over, lips held in an innocent pucker.

“Hey, Asahi,” Suga says.

Asahi blinks at him, lips relaxing. “What?”

Suga surges forward, wraps his arms around Asahi’s neck, and kisses the dickens out of him. Asahi makes frantic noises against the onslaught, hands weaving nervous patterns in the air on either side of his severely affectionate setter.

When Asahi’s muffled squeals reach fever pitch, Suga pulls back and lets him froth with embarrassment for a few moments. “And _that_ … is how it’s done,” he says, punctuating his newest masterwork with a forehead kiss.

Bokuto whistles.

Yaku rouses enough to get his attention. He drags a thumb across the front of his throat, but the blood lingering in his cheeks kind of kills the threat.

“It is your turn now, Suga-san,” Akaashi says.

Suga twirls the bottle. It lands on Goora. Suga crawls over to him, fluttering his eyelashes ridiculously. “I’ll be gentle.”

“I’m not worried,” Goora says, and meets Suga halfway.

“How’re those fish lips treatin’ you?” Ogano asks with a shitty smirk. The extended lip contact—with potential tongue action—is an answer in itself.

“ _Dang_ ,” Suga says as Goora pulls back, “Game recognize game.” He holds out a fist.

Goora bumps it and says, “Spin for me, would you?”

Suga does. It lands on Ogano, and the look of abject torment that washes over his face sets Kuroo the fuck off. He collapses on his side convulsing with laughter. Yaku immediately tries to smother him with middling success.

Ogano tries to say something, but all he manages is, “Hey, I do-“ before Goora comes down on him like a whale breaching. Ogano scrabbles for purchase, screeching stifled by Goora’s face.

A decently-long smooch later, Goora pushes back to sit against the wall with a monk-like calm. “Rum, please.”

Ogano groans from his prone position, clearly dying.

“Now it is your turn, Ogano-san,” Akaashi says.

Ogano groans louder and drags himself up, grabbing the bottle. He walks over to Kuroo and holds it out, grumbling, “I’m giving my turn to Rooster-Head.”

Naturally, Kuroo has no choice but to jump to his feet and cage Ogano in his arms. He closes in slowly, making obnoxious kissy sounds. Ogano wrenches his face away, so Kuroo sucks a nasty hickey onto his neck instead.

“ _Gaah_ , fuck _off,_ ” Ogano says, fighting out of Kuroo’s grip. He wipes at his neck with a sulky glare and stomps back to his seat.

“Let’s not fight, baby, come on,” Kuroo says.

“Blow me,” Ogano says, hunching against the wall.

“Well, you’re gonna have to ask nicer than that,” Suga says. Kuroo shares a mutual finger-guns moment with him.

“It is your turn, Kuroo-san,” Akaashi says. He’s beginning to sound impatient.

Kuroo sets the bottle in the center of the circle and gives it a spin.

The fates love a good bit. They also love a tasty little slice of sexual tension.

The bottle lands on Daichi.

A heavy sigh gusts from Akaashi’s general vicinity.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get a turn soon,” Bokuto says, patting his shoulder.

Daichi’s eyes flick from the bottle to Kuroo’s face. Kuroo’s motor functions temporarily short-circuit, but his smart-assery seems to be on autopilot, so he says, “Get your lips over here, Boulder-Ass.”

Daichi’s already crawling to meet him in the middle of the circle, growling, “My ass isn’t that fucking heavy.”

Kuroo sinks to his knees, putting his face almost level with Daichi’s. “Guess I wouldn’t know,” he says, “unless you’re throwing a complimentary squeeze into this deal.” He sounds a little breathless now and hates himself for it.

Daichi stretches a hand up to grab his shirt and pulls him down onto his hands hard enough that they nearly butt heads. Kuroo’s well-honed reflexes swerve him into Daichi’s shoulder at the last second.

_(thank you, volleyball)_

Then Kuroo feels Daichi’s lips, soft against his ear as he whispers, “You think paying museum admission means you get to touch the art?”

Kuroo snorts loudly against his shoulder. Daichi follows suit a second later. And thank fuck for that, because someone snort-laughing directly into your neck is weird and thoroughly distracting, which is exactly what Kuroo needs. Daichi’s mouth brushing his ear was way sexier than expected and if he pops a boner right here right now, he will have to exile himself forever.

“Oy, oy! You’re the reason we’re playing this dumb game in the first place, don’t be chickening out there, maestro,” Yaku says.

“It’s called foreplay, you schlub.” Kuroo says. He leans back a little and tilts his head at an uncomfortable angle to give Yaku the old fish-eye. “Sounds like _somebody_ could use some more tongue in their mouth.”

“I’ve got some to spare,” Suga purrs.

Yaku swallows hard and flushes clear up to his hairline.

“Could you please wait until the game is finished to demonstrate your tongue wizardry? Not everyone has had a turn yet.” Akaashi says, noticeably irritable now.

“Actually, I think you’re the only one now that Daichi’s been picked,” Bokuto says, and Akaashi sighs.

Daichi’s fingers are still wrapped in Kuroo’s shirt, thumb brushing his pulse. Kuroo isn’t the blushing type, but the possibility that Daichi might feel his heart pounding is making him sweat a little. He leans forward on his hands again, head hunching between his shoulders, eyes glued to the floor, specifically the slivers of floor peeking between the fingers of Daichi’s other hand. He has really nice fingers.

_(stop thinking about fingers, you freak)_

He can see Daichi’s weight shifting in the hand he can’t stop staring at, and his faithful mouth pulls words out of his throat.

“So where did we land on the whole butt-touching thing?”

Kuroo’s voice is entirely too breathy, but he mentally applauds his stroke of genius to push attention towards the more obvious subject of fantasy and away from Kuroo’s laser focus on Daichi’s beautiful hand.

_(don’t think about his hands_

_stop thinking about his fingers_

_hands and fingers are off limits)_

Kuroo squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. He can’t tell if he’s had too much alcohol or far too little. Daichi’s voice is quiet and warm. “My official position is: ‘in your dreams’.”

This is a truer statement than Kuroo will ever admit out loud.

 _(people dream about lots of things)_

He forces himself to look up, but Daichi is already there, lips pressing into his, warm, smooth

_(oh)_

and Kuroo is leaning, leaning so their mouths press fully,

 _(_ **_fuck_ ** _)_

firmly, and they’ve all been drinking, Suga’s thrown the standards for “too much” out the fucking window so who’s gonna say anything—

_(warm)_

Daichi’s lips part against his slightly and Kuroo stills, holding his breath until his best nightmare comes true and he feels the delicate stroke of Daichi’s tongue along his lower lip, then leisurely tasting the weakening seam of his mouth, and _oh fuck he’s getting hard_.

As if he can hear Kuroo’s thoughts, Daichi backs off, giving him a sly grin. “Captain,” he murmurs.

In this moment, Kuroo blacks out, or something like. Pre-kiss he was tipsy at best, but somehow he misses how he ends up back where he was sitting before. He doesn’t know who Daichi kisses next, doesn’t know how much longer the game goes, doesn’t come back until the dull thud of the door sliding shut cuts through the fog.

The group has shrunk since he was last paying any attention, and only denizens of the garbage dump remain. His mouth tastes like recent rum, so clearly his autopilot has been functionally dedicated to keeping the good times rolling.

“I think I’m ready for bed,” Nobuyuki’s voice swims into his left ear.

“Quitterrrrrr,” Suga says into the floor. Kuroo watches him lift an arm to point an accusing finger and give up a few inches after take-off, arm flopping to the floor like a wet noodle. Kuroo can relate, he kind of wants to do the same.

“Huh, really thought he’d passed out this time,” Yaku says through a vicious yawn, head lolling on the knee he’s got drawn up in front of him. He’s moved away from the wall to hold up a largely-missing section of circle.

“But,” Suga says, pausing to hiccup, “the rum isn’ even gone. How’m I s’posed to leave the party if rum’s still here, that’d be _rude_.” He curls around on his side like a worm to pin Yaku with bleary eyes. “What’re we gonna do with you, bad manners _an’_ a lazy kisser, you’ll never be able t’ get married.”

Yaku’s exhaustion turns his scowl distinctly terrifying, but Suga blows a raspberry at him and shoves his face back into the floor.

Nobuyuki chuckles and quietly crosses to the door. He gives Kuroo a genial nod before he leaves the tiny stupid bubble universe they’ve woven here tonight.

“Well, rum’s gone now,” Daichi says, holding the newest empty bottle in loose fingers, freshly drained into his own mouth. He swings it like a pendulum.

Daichi’s voice is rougher than before, and when Kuroo focuses on him, he looks noticeably worse for wear. _Shit_ , he was supposed to be keeping track! Some fellow captain he is.

Some fuckin’ _friend_.

He’s seen the strain building with each new penalty drill, hardening the lines of Daichi’s face. He knows that no matter how resolute and optimistic Daichi’s words are to his team, the panic of stalling out is stirring in his gut. He knows because he hovers over that feeling all the time—the simple reality of captaining a team that is by definition a slow starter—insides twisting into tight-braided twine while he waits, play after play after play, for their circulatory teamwork to heat Kenma’s engine up.

It’s suffocating. And Daichi’s been going it alone. Kuroo’s been too much of a chickenshit to really try to make him feel better.

No, instead he’s put his energies into deeply upsetting that glasses kid, so if you think about it, he’s just putting more stress on Daichi’s shoulders in the long run.

Or maybe not, glasses kid really needs to step the fuck up, the hell is he wasting all that height and attitude for?

But Kuroo’s been wasting his talents too.

He’s got a PhD in provocation. And that’s kind of like being an expert in distraction with a martyr component thrown in, since he can distract people specifically by making them want to punch him in the face.

He can help Daichi. He can bring him up for air, at least for long enough to catch his breath.

“Um, maybe we should all hit the sack,” Asahi’s quiet voice draws Kuroo’s attention. The ace has his hand out, reaching towards Daichi. “We can save that one for later or something.”

Daichi’s got the last bottle of booze in his hands, already open before Asahi’s finished talking.

He takes a swig, eyes sliding sideways when the ace’s hand enters his field of vision, but Asahi’s weak smile is not enough incentive for him to give it up. He lounges back on his elbows, grin carving a divot of mischief into his face. His voice is gruff. “Nah.”

Oh fuck.

Kuroo shivers. He could stand to get some air himself. Maybe they should open a window. 

Asahi tries again. “Come on, Daichi, we should really get some sleep.” He reaches for the bottle with a firmer hand, but Daichi bares his teeth and growls at him.

“ _Poopers_ ,” Suga drawls as he rolls onto his back. He throws a leg across Asahi’s lap and nudges his shin against the ace’s stomach. “You ’n Yaku’re both _par-tee poopers_ , you _suck_.”

“Dunno ‘bout your captain, but he _definitely_ needs to go to bed,” Yaku mutters, blinking sleepily at the Karasuno stooges.

“Nooooooo,” Suga keens, rolling onto his front again. He crawls over to Kuroo and pours himself into his lap, wrapping heavy arms around his neck and head-butting him in the throat. “Wanna stayyyy. Daichi too, he’s so stre-“ he hiccups “ _stressed_ , needs to dec- uhhh, _deee-com_ …”

“Decompress?” Kuroo prompts. His voice is scratchy. He wonders why none of them thought to bring any water. Irresponsible teen drinking at its finest.

“ _Yeahhhhhh_ , tha’s it, so _smart_ Kuro-Kuroo.” Suga’s speaking into Kuroo’s throat now and stroking the hair along the base of his skull, which feels kind of nice, but also Daichi is staring at them and looking… _stressed_.

Suga’s still mumbling, something that sounds like, “toooooo much, couldn’ do it, no sir” as he goes limp, head sagging down on Kuroo’s shoulder.

“Yeah, he’s ready for bed,” Asahi murmurs, getting to his feet. He stoops to grasp Suga under the armpits, but Suga squirms and wraps himself around Kuroo like a straightjacket. Kuroo’s drunk enough that this is hilarious, so he’s no help at all while Asahi fights to get a grip on his shit-faced setter.

Yaku heaves himself up and approaches with a husky, “Hey. Suga.”

Suga perks a little at Yaku’s voice, but his arms remain boa constrictor-tight even when Yaku slides his hand into the setter’s pale hair. He blinks mulishly when Yaku pulls his head back, lips pouty. “No, Suga no here.”

“You gotta go to bed,” Yaku says.

“Then you gotta pay the toll, muthafuckaaaa,” Suga says, tugging lightly against Yaku’s grip. Kuroo sees Yaku’s jaw tighten.

“Such a problem child,” Daichi mumbles into his bottle.

Suga probably intends to tell Daichi to fuck off, but it’s lost in Yaku’s mouth as he tilts Suga’s head the other way and angles their lips together. Suga makes a surprised little hum instead that fades into a purr, hold on Kuroo slipping.

Kuroo can see the heat in Yaku’s cheeks as he presses into Suga’s mouth, fingertips performing a tentative dance along Suga’s jaw… and feels a tiny bit bad that he has to ruin the moment. “Wow, front-row seats for the sex show.”

Daichi snorts loudly. Yaku flips him off without missing a beat, then slaps that hand flat against Kuroo’s forehead. He manages to do all this without separating from the sloppy setter, who is now hanging from his shoulders and frenching him eagerly.

“Guess it’s one of those interactive sex shows,” Daichi murmurs.

Kuroo laughs too hard to hold himself upright, which provides an opportunity for Asahi to drag Suga’s lower body out of Kuroo’s lap. He clears his throat gently to get Yaku’s attention, clears it louder when Yaku’s attention proves hard to get.

Yaku detaches himself from the Suga sugar machine, completely red again.

“Oy, back to work, I want my money’s worth,” Kuroo says, snapping his fingers. Daichi sniggers, and Kuroo smiles. They’ve got a laugh circuit going, excellent. One ticket to Distraction City for Sawamura Daichi, coming up. If he doesn’t have to get punched, all the better.

“Fuck off,” Yaku grouses, but the effect of his glare is demolished by Suga rubbing his face on Yaku’s neck like a cat. Kuroo dissolves into giggles again, collapsing on his back, and Yaku snaps, “Yeah, be super loud now that you’re fucked up, _great_ idea.”

“Let’s get Suga to bed,” Asahi says, trying to stay on task.

“I’ve got his top half if you want to get his legs,” Yaku says, maneuvering around the setter to hook his arms under his armpits.

“Sure, thanks,” Asahi says, then shoots a look Daichi’s way. “I’ll come back after we get Suga tucked in.”

“We need to get some water in him first,” Yaku says, peering down at Suga’s nodding head. “He’s gonna be hungover either way, but it might prevent him from puking all over the gym.”

Asahi blanches. “Uh, yeah, good idea.” They walk carefully to the door, Asahi leading. He gathers Suga’s ankles under one arm so he can open the door, then backs up a few steps so Yaku can back out into the hall. Suga mumbles some nonsense as the darkness in the hall swaddles them.

“I’ve got the door,” Kuroo says, and he toddles over on his knees, quietly sliding it shut. There, the bubble is sealed again. He’s alone with Daichi.

Kuroo freezes, hand still on the door. Alone? Fuck. Now he has no idea what his next move is supposed to be.

The initial loose plan was to keep making fun of their buddies until Daichi was a puddle of amusement, but now they’re all gone, and making fun of Daichi seems counterintuitive. Kuroo curses his useless jello brain for blowing all his quick thinking on sarcasm and volleyball.

“Hey, you want some of this? It’s pretty good.” Kuroo turns his head to see Daichi taking another sip of unknown liquor. He swallows and smacks his lips a few times, turning his eyes to the label. “Or maybe I’m just drunk.”

Kuroo crawls over slowly, peering at the label in the dim light. “The fuck is Aperol?”

Daichi shrugs. “It’s bitter but, like, nice.”

“Ah, so like you’ll be when my team kicks your team’s ass at Nationals.” Kuroo gives Daichi a sideways grin, receiving a halfhearted chuckle in return—a mediocre reward for a mediocre wisecrack. Fair. Kuroo sighs and says, “Alright, hand it over.”

Bitter-sharp citrus punches him in the tongue. He almost chokes on his mouthful, but the flavor remaining after he swallows is… “Huh. That is kinda nice.”

“Refreshing, right?” Daichi leans back on his hands, gazing aimlessly at his stretched-out legs.

Kuroo grunts. A small part of him just became painfully aware how close they are now.

Of course, it’d probably be weirder if they didn’t sit next to each other. They’re just two bros chilling, so as long as they don’t get in a hot tub they’re fine. Kuroo tosses back another swig of Aperol to pull himself from an increasingly treacherous thought spiral.

His brain is seriously punking out right now. He’s supposed to be taking Daichi’s mind off shit! Kuroo tries to think whether Bokuto’s done anything over-the-top stupid lately, but realizes Daichi is at the same training camp and thus would probably already know about whatever it is. His eyes cast around the room for anything else—ah _-ha_.

He sets the booze down next to Daichi’s hip and crawls over to the empty bottle, throwing a reckless smile over his shoulder. “Wanna tongue-kiss some ghosts?”

Daichi arches a brow and takes a drink, stare bland as he gazes down the length of the bottle at him.

“Suit yourself,” Kuroo says. He flicks the empty into a wild spin. It comes to rest pointing at a chair in the far corner. How anticlimactic. “Or,” he says, sitting back on his heels, “We could play spin-the-bottle roulette, and every time it doesn’t land on one of us we drink.”

Daichi flicks his eyes around the general emptiness of the space. “Could just cut out the middleman and straight-up drink.”

“See, you’re not grasping the genius of this game,” Kuroo says, hands out to the sides in _just hear me out_ mode, “because there are no stakes or penalties if we’re just drinking, and what fun is that?”

Daichi grunts, and Kuroo injects a little devil into the smile he sends him. “Besides, I know how hot and heavy you Karasuno boys are on penalties lately.”

Daichi’s brows stiffen and lower a dangerous degree. He meets Kuroo’s gaze. “So what’s the penalty?”

Kuroo contemplates, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Dealer’s choice,” he says, “It lands on either of us, we have to do whatever the other person tells us.”

Daichi’s brows relax enough to crawl halfway up his forehead. “Whatever?”

Kuroo shrugs a shoulder. “Within reason.”

“Dunno,” Daichi rumbles, taking another sippy sip while he ruminates. He nods his forehead across the room. “I still think you need to kiss that chair, man.”

Daichi may be onto something here that bumps the dumb bullshit factor way up, and Kuroo’s brain is still entirely pudding.

“Okay, so we kiss whatever the bottle lands on before we drink.”

“Sweet. Get on it.”

Kuroo gets his feet under him and swaggers over to the chair, pulling it away from its brethren. He tips it onto its back legs, canting his head at an angle of exaggerated arrogance as he tells it, “I’m about to rock your world, baby.” Then he swoops down and smooches the chair-back, playing it up with moans and smacking noises that verge on obscene until he hears Daichi snickering. Only then does he step away, giving the chair a wink-and-a-gun. “Here’s lookin’ at ya, kid.”

Daichi is hovering on the edge of a full-on belly laugh as Kuroo steals the booze from him. It’s a good look. Daichi’s radiant like this.

Something clenches low in Kuroo’s belly. He dumps liquor in his mouth.

_(could you maybe stop being a freak_

_for like_

_five fucking minutes)_

“You’re up, Sawamura,” Kuroo says, clearing his throat. Daichi is still wracked with giggles, so Kuroo very graciously spins for him. “And you’ve got a sweet-ass wall calling your name.”

Daichi follows the point of the empty with watery eyes, and Kuroo sees the tiny debate behind them. The winning argument is _fuck it_ , and Daichi log-rolls across the floor to reach his destination. He gives the wall a chaste kiss, then rolls a half-turn back to throw a grabby hand Kuroo’s way.

“Poor effort, Sawamura.” Kuroo tsks at him, but hands off the bottle anyway. His spin points at the same wall Daichi just macked on. Dull.

Kuroo’s eyes skate over Daichi’s stretched-out figure—levering to his elbows to put his mouth where Kuroo’s just was on the lip of the bottle—and quickly flicks his gaze up to the thin sliver of moon still visible instead.

He wets his lower lip. “Dare me to lick the window?”

Daichi snorts at him. “No.”

Kuroo does it anyway.

Daichi rolls and snorts into the floor, booze held at a precarious tilt. Kuroo plucks it from his _(beautiful)_ fingers and plops down on his butt. He swishes his mouthful just in case it was a particularly germy window, swallows and says, “Want me to spin for you again?”

Daichi doesn’t answer, just maneuvers himself upright against the wall and grabs the liquor back.

Kuroo sighs at him. “Is this disdain for rules a reflection on your bumpkin upbringing? You’re as bad as Suga-chan.”

“Mm,” Daichi agrees solemnly, “Learned from the worst.”

Kuroo stretches backward to swipe at the empty. It careens in a wild circle and comes to a stop pointing directly at him. He frowns slightly. “Well, try not to channel him too much. It’s your choice.”

Daichi is busy gazing at the ceiling, liquor hovering in front of his mouth. Kuroo nudges a toe against his leg. “Oy, what’s your bidding?”

Daichi starts. His eyes float down to the empty and blink at it for a few seconds before sailing off to the side. He puts the bottle back up to his mouth, murmuring, “I dunno, kiss whatever.”

 _Whatever_ is a very open-ended allowance. Kuroo swallows. His throat is getting dry again.

He leans forward and snatches the liquor out of Daichi’s hand, closes his eyes, and engages the side of the bottle in a wild make-out session.

Daichi snickers quietly, so Kuroo amps up the nasty like before, ending on a sharp moan as he licks his way up the bottleneck to take a slug. When he opens his eyes, Daichi is flat on the floor again, kneading his face with his hands.

Kuroo frowns. He feels like he missed something. Daichi went from laughing to clear distress, biting his lip and groaning low in his throat.

“You okay, man?” Kuroo asks. Daichi doesn’t respond, doesn’t move. Kuroo looks at the floor again. “We can call it quits if you want.”

“No.” Daichi’s voice is hoarse. “I’m okay. Just…” He breathes out a tiny laugh. “Just stressed.”

“Yeah, I know,” Kuroo says. He draws nonsense designs on the floor with his fingertip. “It takes time to get a team on the same page when everyone’s reading at different speeds, and the wait sucks major ass.”

He sees Daichi’s face turn to him in his peripheral vision and flicks his eyes up, curling his mouth in a half-sly grin. “Shit, my team has a set-long warm-up timer built in and I still get impatient sometimes. Like, why does observation take so long? Why can’t we just do the thing, you know? Just because patience pays off doesn’t make it any less painful.”

“Yeah,” Daichi breathes. His eyes are liquid with something Kuroo can’t place.

“That’s why I’m here.” Kuroo shifts his eyes to the floor again. He leaves the _with you_ behind his teeth, turns it into a lame chuckle before he looks back up at Daichi. “You think I’d be making a damn fool out of myself for no fuckin’ reason?”

One of Daichi’s eyebrows arches up, pulling the corner of his mouth along with it. Kuroo sneers at him. “Actually, don’t answer that.”

Daichi’s mouth opens on a real laugh. Kuroo presses his lips together. Maybe he’s succeeding after all.

But then Daichi’s groping his hand out for the alcohol again, and Kuroo gets a sudden wild hair that sets a tingle down his back.

He rotates on his butt to capture the runaway empty with an extended foot. The dragging sounds behind him indicate Daichi is army-crawling towards the booze Kuroo’s left just out of his reach and therefore probably not paying attention.

Kuroo drags the empty a bit closer and shifts the point to Daichi, then slides a coy gaze over his shoulder. “Oh look,” he says, all innocence, “My spin landed on you, isn’t that weird?”

“Mm hmm,” Daichi says, propped up on an elbow with the bottle already in his mouth.

Kuroo scowls and smacks the end of it. “Stop hogging the liquor, you lush.”

Daichi eyes him evenly, unconcerned, and tips the bottle into his mouth again, matching Kuroo’s frown with flat disinterest. Kuroo narrows his eyes and jabs a threatening finger. “You tryin’ to sass me, Sawamura?”

This earns him a gentle curl of Daichi’s mouth and a sweet crinkle at the corners of his eyes.

_(cute)_

Kuroo sighs theatrically to emphasize how much Daichi’s trying his patience. “Anyway, I think the ghosts are trying to tell us something.”

“Uh huh,” Daichi says. His tone indicates he’s well-aware Kuroo didn’t even try to spin.

“You know how ghosts are,” Kuroo says, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling, “pushing their desires on the living. I feel bad they have to spend their afterlives manipulating high school students into some,” he slings his eyes back to Daichi’s and bobs his eyebrows, “ _hardcore_ mackin’.”

Kuroo’s aiming for more laughter, so the darkening of Daichi’s eyes feels like a punch to the gut, followed up by the savage roundhouse of his rough voice murmuring, “So is that what _you_ desire?”

Kuroo chokes on absolutely nothing, or possibly on panic taking material form for a few seconds to fill his throat. Daichi splutters, “Holy shit, your _face_ ” and cracks the hell up, nearly collapsing again.

Kuroo says, “Yeah, you know what?” He throws himself forward and shoves Daichi on his back, yanking the liquor away. Daichi doesn’t stop laughing so, in a half-thought-through power move, Kuroo sits on him.

Daichi huffs out a low _oof_ as Kuroo’s weight settles into his middle. His eyes stay playful, but his mouth goes stern to say, “No, I don’t know. That’s why I asked.” He’s pitching his voice deep and serious, which is a problem all by itself, but also he’s still laughing underneath the faux-sternness, and the way it’s making his stomach move under Kuroo’s ass is…

 _(fuck_ **_fuck_ ** _what the_ **_fuck_ ** _)_

…distracting.

Kuroo tosses back a glug and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand as he sets the bottle to the side, taking a moment to breathe. Then he lowers his eyelids, calls on the shit-stirrer within, and fixes Daichi with a deadly grin. “Well pucker up, big boy, ‘cause mama wants some sugar.”

Daichi bursts out laughing. Kuroo presses his lips together so he doesn’t do the same. He hunkers down over Daichi and grabs his face, lifting his head off the floor as he growls, “Pucker _up_ , asshole.”

Daichi laughs harder even as he pouts his lips out.

Kuroo knows his seductive expression is dissolving into frustrated mirth and channels it into action, leaning closer and muttering, “Fuckin’ rule-breaker,” right before he mashes their lips together in a campy Hollywood-style lip-lock, moaning outrageously.

It’s exactly as over-the-top and ridiculous as he intends it to be.

And unfortunately, Kuroo feels it curling all the way down to his toes. 

_(oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck_

_what the fuck is wrong with me)_

Daichi makes no move to pull away or push Kuroo back, but he’s also still laughing his ass off and Kuroo is feeling unreasonably embarrassed by his chosen course of action here, so he stops sucking Daichi’s lips and grumbles, “Hey, I’m trying to lay down some romance here, do you fucking mind?”

And Daichi grins up at him with a breathless, “Not at all” before hooking an arm around the back of his neck and yanking their mouths back together. Kuroo’s too surprised to catch himself, teeth digging into his own lip—Daichi’s kissing him _hard_ , holy shit what—and he doesn’t have time to get any bearings before Daichi posts his hips up and rolls them so Kuroo’s underneath him

and his other hand is sliding under the back of Kuroo’s head

and he tilts Kuroo’s mouth up just so

and then Daichi’s tongue is in Kuroo’s mouth

and he tastes like bitter citrus

and heat

and

Kuroo’s

lost.

_(holy mother of fuck_

_Sawamura Daichi_

_can f u c k ing_

**_kiss_ ** _, oh…_

_oh_

_fuck)_

All Kuroo knows is the powerful slide of Daichi’s tongue against his. He’s pretty sure he’s moaning, but his focus is devoted entirely to the tiniest bubble universe being created right here right now in the small space his mouth is sharing with Daichi’s. Fire spirals through him, surging in his throat and coiling down,

down too low,

unhelpfully low— _no_ _no_ _no_

_(oh **no** )_

Kuroo doesn’t know what the hell his problem is or why he suggested this stupid fucking game in the first place, as if he had no idea what would happen if things got to this point again. He might be a bigger idiot than Bokuto, and that’s saying a lot. And now he’s making the very real problem developing in his shorts his friend’s problem too, his friend who is going through a tough time right now, his friend who is humming into his mouth and enthusiastically pressing down against him _oh fuck_ ** _WAIT_** _HE’LL—_

Daichi pauses and silently pulls back. Kuroo’s eyes are already squeezed shut because he’s willing himself to spontaneously pass away, so he has no clue what expression Daichi’s wearing.

“Huh,” Daichi says, pressing against Kuroo again. Kuroo squeaks and hates himself with a passion. Then he feels Daichi’s lips hovering, softly brushing his as he says, “You’re hard.”

Kuroo’s eyes fly open when Daichi presses against him at a slightly different angle, and the darkness in his gaze sucks the air right out of Kuroo’s lungs.

Daichi comes through in the clutch, breathing a few more words into his mouth. “Me too.”

Kuroo can feel as much now, but still doesn’t have enough air to say so. Daichi takes this as a good sign—it is—and closes the distance between them again, softer now, like he wants to take his time.

And Kuroo isn’t lost anymore, but he’s all at sea, ebbing and flowing at the moon’s whim.

Only the moon is Daichi, and Daichi’s lips are traveling down to his neck to do something delicious to the skin there, and Kuroo’s surprised his shirt isn’t in shreds because he’s pretty sure his nipples could cut glass right n—“ _-nngh_ easy there,” he gasps, partially because Daichi’s teeth are grazing his pulse and partially because Daichi coupled it with a very interesting dig of his hips.

Daichi puts soft lips where his teeth just were, hips rocking into Kuroo’s with beguiling rhythm, and Kuroo’s definitely kind of drunk—an unfortunate side effect of continuing to drink—but now he’s beginning to wonder if maybe he passed out after he kissed Daichi the first time.

What’s happening right now could be an alcohol-fueled dream. If so, rum is the most hellish sort of temptress, draping him in this guaranteed-to-be-wet dream. Kuroo’s not sure what else to think; his regular dreams are never quite this hands-on. It’s possible he really is making out with Daichi, yes, but the worst case scenario here is that he’s dry-humping one of his teammates in his sleep while the rest of them film him on their phones. That’s an execution-style headshot to the dignity no one can recover from.

The sensation of Daichi’s mouth pressing against the bare skin of his chest makes Kuroo jump. His shirt is now pushed up to his collar bone and Daichi is dotting slow kisses hither and yon. Goosebumps are radiating all over Kuroo’s torso, the time-bomb in his shorts is ticking faster… if he’s asleep, the time to bail is _extremely fucking nigh._

Kuroo scrabbles out from under Daichi and frantically crab-walks backward until he hits wall. There he sags, burdened with the confirmation that this isn’t a dream. Dream Daichi is confidence personified, so it can only be Real Daichi Kuroo’s left wide-eyed in the middle of the room, hovering oddly on his hands and knees.

Daichi blinks and sits back on his heels slowly, eyes level on Kuroo’s face, clearly confused but trying to get a read on the situation. It’s what he does, this quiet observation and analysis, one of those qualities that make him such an amazing captain.

Truly, in so many ways, Daichi’s just…

_(amazing_

_Daichi’s fucking amazing)_

Kuroo tries to paste on one of his usual grins to defuse the tension he just created, but it’s getting tricky to fake his usual confidence in this rapidly unraveling situation.

Because this isn’t a dream. It’s a reality that Kuroo has been orchestrating in small ways this entire night. And it’s probably well past time to stop pretending this is all shit-talking and taking jokes too far, if only to himself.

Because how long has it been since he started seeing Daichi differently?

How long since his fellow captain became something debatably more interesting than a destined rival, if only in the deep dark of Kuroo’s subconscious that peeks out when alcohol pries open the door?

 _(yeah,_ ** _only_** _then_

__

_never when you’re moaning into your pillow_

_or fucking your fist in the shower_

_you absolute fucking_ **_nerd_ ** _)_

“You okay?” Daichi’s voice startles Kuroo back out of his brain. He looks concerned now. _Shit._

“Yeah, I’m…”

Kuroo’s brain ceases transmission. His answer is hijacked by the fairly obvious self-observation now streaking overhead like a flaming meteor.

Yeah, he’s fine.

Also he’s super _mega_ gay.

Huh.

_(Daichi’s tongue action dragged you under a sappy tidal metaphor_

_of_ **_course_ ** _you’re fucking gay you idiot)_

Kuroo blinks.

Somehow this realization is not as earth-shattering as he thought it would be.

But maybe it’s not _realizing_ so much as _accepting_ it now.

Because if he’s being really honest with himself, locker rooms have been minefields of inappropriate erections for years now.

And he definitely had elaborate fantasies about marrying Kenma when they were kids. That’s all pretty gay of him.

Also he’s been thirsting for his fellow captain here since the first time Daichi gave him that fake polite smile while crushing his hand, so, you know.

His fellow captain who, uh, was just grinding on him a few minutes ago.

His fellow captain whose expression is tightening the longer Kuroo leaves him hanging after scurrying from his ardency like a fucking rat.

_(fuuuuuuuck)_

Kuroo’s brain ticks back online like he’s still using dial-up, complete with the chorus of hellish beeps and tinny shrieking. He’s truly the worst kind of idiot. Thank fuck Daichi is a patient soul, albeit a patient soul whose forehead is creased with worry and likely regret.

Kuroo swallows quickly and says, “I’m good. I just uh,” he runs a mildly shaking hand through his hair, “needed a breather.”

_(that and a few minutes to have a minor gay crisis_

_you know, that old chestnut)_

Daichi’s expression doesn’t improve at this admission, so Kuroo adds, “You took my breath away” with a dramatic hand to his heart.

He attempts a shit-eating grin that ends up feeling more shy than anything, and maybe it is, but it does the trick. Daichi’s face relaxes. “Had me kind of worried there,” he says, smiling gently.

Kuroo’s heart squeezes, because Daichi’s not even pissed at him for being such a weird asshole, _fuck_. He’d suspected, but this certainly confirms it: Sawamura Daichi is way too good for him.

But if Daichi hasn’t realized this yet, Kuroo isn’t going to tell him.

Instead he cops a sliver of his usual attitude and says, “No need to be impatient, Sawamura. Good things come to those who wait.”

He still sounds breathless, but maybe he doesn’t need to worry about that as much now.

Daichi’s smile grows to a grin, brows riding low over his eyes now. “You’ve got a pretty high opinion of yourself.”

Kuroo shrugs a shoulder. “Who else is gonna?”

“You don’t think I do?” Daichi’s voice is husky. Kuroo feels the mood shift a few degrees and licks his bottom lip. Daichi’s eyes flicker to the movement, then down Kuroo’s body.

To Kuroo’s knowledge, it’s the first time anyone has ever looked at him like this, and the effect is potent. He sucks in a breath as the throbbing in his lower half kicks back up. Then Daichi meets his gaze and it feels like they’re right back where they left off.

Kuroo suddenly finds his voice missing and licks his lips again, relaxing his defensive posture as he stretches his legs out in front of him. Understanding subtle tells in body language is an important skill in volleyball—Daichi’s got it in spades, so he reads Kuroo perfectly, not that there’s anything subtle about the way Kuroo’s spreading his legs apart to welcome him back in. Daichi takes his time crawling forward, eyes dark, shoulders rolling like a fucking panther, and Kuroo’s never been so turned on in his life.

When Daichi’s mouth presses to his again, Kuroo thinks he might actually die. Daichi’s way too good a kisser and even though he’s been boozing all night he still smells really good and _tastes_ divine and it’s fuckin’ _Daichi_ and

_(aw fuck_

_am I in love_

_I think I’m in love_

_I’m in love_ **_FUCK_ **

_FUCK FUCK FUCK_ _FUCK)_

The realization-acceptance factory is on fire tonight, churning out wave after wave of the best-worst news because now it’s for sure going to stab Kuroo in the heart if this turns out to be plain old stress relief for Daichi.

On the other hand, Kuroo has already accepted that his personal threshold of idiocy is _stupid_ high, so he’s going to keep doing what feels good and worry about the consequences later until that bites him in the ass painfully enough for him to learn. He’s too young, too dumb, way too full of cum to even imagine making the responsible decision to recuse himself right now.

To that end, Kuroo tangles his tongue with Daichi’s more fervently. Daichi groans into his mouth. His hand slides up Kuroo’s shirt, spelling out words Kuroo can’t parse across the skin of his stomach, and Kuroo flips right back to wondering if he’s in over his head.

He’s doesn’t know if it’s possible to get off from kissing alone but— _fuck_ —Daichi makes him want to find out, but also— _oh_ ** _fuck_** —he wants more, so desperately.

And again, Daichi seems to read his mind, laying himself flat between Kuroo’s legs as he plants kisses in a scattered ladder down his torso. Kuroo’s heart wants to kiss Daichi too, battering itself against his ribcage like a mad thing as his mouth trails by.

Daichi lingers low on his belly, layering kisses in an ever-shrinking infinity symbol. It’s maddening and Kuroo never wants him to stop. He could _for sure_ get off on this kind of contact alone—but that kind of pathetic is more of a few-months-into-a-relationship kind of revelation, surely?

It doesn’t bear thinking about further because Daichi’s languid lips are trickling down over his newly-bared hip, and Kuroo knows he’s in big trouble if he doesn’t slow things down.

“O-ho, what’s this?” His smile is a quick white streak in the dark. “You gonna show me how an earnest country boy sucks cock, Sawamura?”

Daichi looks up at him, lids lazy over his eyes. His answering grin is feral and Kuroo feels a chill slink down his spine. He sure fucking hopes the answer is yes.

_(he’s literally staring your dick in the face_

_what else would it be, you dumb shit)_

Daichi holds Kuroo’s gaze and lowers his head, mouth hovering over the hardness twitching in Kuroo’s boxers. “Are you gonna show me how a city boy does it after?”

Only he says it like that second-year Tanaka does and ‘shitty’ is an eternally funny word, especially in this moment when they’re skunk-drunk and blushingly too far past the point of return. They both struggle to muffle their snorting. Kuroo shoves both hands over his mouth and grinds his skull against the wall behind him. Daichi smothers his face in Kuroo’s thigh, sniggering like a madman.

Unfortunately for Kuroo, this is kinda sexy and only highlights the position they’re still in, what with Daichi panting little giggles against the hem of his boxer leg, breath ghosting up over more sensitive skin and it’s…

 _(_ **_fuck_ ** _)_

Kuroo sucks in air when Daichi presses his warm mouth into his inner thigh, clamping down on the pitiful moan threatening to tear out of his throat. All Daichi’s doing is kissing his goddamn leg and he about creamed his pants just now.

The official word of the day is: fuck™.

So this is a genuine problem; in the spirit of early 2000s Destiny’s Child, Kuroo isn’t sure he’s ready for this jelly. He _is_ sure he isn’t ready for things to end so quickly.

_(get it together)_

This might be the only chance he ever has for this sort of one-on-one time with Daichi. Aside from his high probability of premature ejaculation if they keep to the current track, how rad would it be if he could seduce Daichi into falling for him too?

 _(great plan! suck_ **_his_ ** _dick_

_suck it right now)_

Kuroo slides one hand into Daichi’s hair and the other around his jaw. He pulls his face back up, hunching forward to meet him with a slightly jittery kiss. His voice has absconded again, so he’s stuck with body language to communicate his intentions.

It’s probably for the best. His mouth tends to be a mood-killer, particularly when his nerves are kicking into overdrive like they are right now.

This seemed like such a straightforward plan at first thought—hard dick + mouth + sucking = Success. But as much as Kuroo understands the logistics of a blowjob, it’s still an intimidating prospect when you began your night of debauchery anticipating a few sloppy kisses at best. Daichi remains amazing, following Kuroo’s signals without a word. He gathers his knees under him and leans up to press his tongue into Kuroo’s mouth again with aching slowness.

Kuroo distracts himself from the recurring urge to jizz his pants by letting his hands travel down over Daichi’s gorgeous shoulders, feeling his way down the strong lines of his torso. He thrills at Daichi’s intake of breath when his fingers graze the taut skin just under the hem of Daichi’s t-shirt, the way the muscles jump under his touch. Daichi leans back to tug his shirt off, giving Kuroo an eyeful of nicely-toned beef.

Kuroo’s had enough exposure to Daichi over text and around the court to know that he generally considers himself the most average guy in the room, but it is genuinely baffling that a man this attractive thinks he’s just a humdrum average joe. It’s more than just being humble; Daichi doesn’t seem to see himself clearly at all. He openly admits he thinks he’s nothing special, but still has the underlying confidence to lead his team without faltering.

It’s unpretentious to a fault and probably one of the prime reasons Kuroo’s in up to his neck. There aren’t many things hotter than a guy who has no clue how unbearably sexy he is, especially one who is likely to argue with you about that fact because it’s offensive to his modest spirit—like, what a fuckin’ dreamboat.

Naturally, Kuroo has to kiss him again immediately. Daichi groans approval, slipping a hand back under Kuroo’s shirt, anchoring his fingers around Kuroo’s waist. He seems very happy with the lazier pace Kuroo is trying to establish, which is good, because now Kuroo’s thinking he should start smaller, work up to the dick-in-mouth option rather than going straight for it.

Daichi’s still kneeling between Kuroo’s legs, and Kuroo lets one of his hands gently settle on Daichi’s hip for a moment before he marshals the courage to reach for the hardness tenting Daichi’s shorts. Daichi shifts as soon as Kuroo makes contact, moving to straddle his legs for better stability. He thrusts his hips forward, rubbing his erection into Kuroo’s palm, and uses his higher angle to kiss Kuroo deeper, tilting his head all the way back with a hand in his hair, tongue sweeping into his mouth.

It’s fucking hot and Kuroo forgets he’s stalling, pulling Daichi’s shorts down so he can touch him bare, wrapping his fingers around the dick he’s been denying he fantasizes about for months. It feels red-hot in his hand, and Kuroo moans at the wetness he feels when he rubs up over the head.

Daichi’s leaking precum because of _him._

_(don’t read into this_

_you’re both drunk and horny_

_slow your roll, loser)_

This is what passes through Kuroo’s brain right before Daichi starts pumping his cock into Kuroo’s demure grip and whispers, “Yeah, like that,” against his lips.

Kuroo whines like the bitch he is and licks into Daichi’s mouth, closing the cage of his hand enough that Daichi grunts at the first active pull of his foreskin; he caps the sound with a hum of approval and flicks his tongue under Kuroo’s like he’s been waiting for this all night. Kuroo opens up, wanton, ignoring how his boxers are sticking to him like he’s making a papier-mâché mold of his own dick. He’s leaking, pathetically hard, might have already spunked his shorts once, and is now actively fighting his own decision to slow things down because if Daichi’s tongue can undo him this much, the taste of his dick might just show Kuroo God.

Oh fuck, he wants to see God right _now_.

Kuroo pulls his mouth away and shimmies down the wall, wiggling till he’s on his elbows and eye-level with…

 _(that’s—_ **_wow_ ** _)_

Daichi’s cock is beautiful.

It’s about the same length as Kuroo’s, but thicker and very well-sculpted—not that Kuroo has some kind of weird gremlin dick, but Daichi’s is very aesthetically pleasing, the kind of dick you see in really nice porn. It’s as gorgeous as the rest of him. Even his pubes are nice.

Nerves are starting to buzz along Kuroo’s spine again, so he stretches his neck forward to cut them off at the pass and swipes his tongue up the head of Daichi’s cock like a lollipop. He laps at it, moaning low in his throat—it tastes like skin, and salt, and that bitter edge leaking from the tip reminds Kuroo of the taste of Daichi’s mouth and before he’s even conscious of it, he’s got his lips snug around the head of Daichi’s cock.

He’s distantly aware of Daichi trembling when he takes his cock into his mouth, of the quick-breathed _“fuck”_ when Kuroo wraps long arms around Daichi’s hips to better accommodate his ability to suck him like an extra-thick milkshake. He works his mouth down over Daichi’s length, tingling exquisitely with every new inch.

_(aw fuck Daichi’s gonna think I’m a slut_

_and he’s right)_

Kuroo is definitely going to cum in his shorts now and he doesn’t even care. Something about his mouth being stretched open by a cock, by _Daichi’s_ cock, is really doing it for him. He feels a little like he’s floating, loosely tethered to reality by the warmth seeping into him from the man whose thickly-muscled thighs he wants to live between forever. Daichi lets a hand drift down to caress the side of his face, biting out a growled whisper of, “ _Fuck_ , Kuroo, that’s…” He doesn’t have words for what it is, just a deeply-voiced grunt and a firm stroke of his thumb down Kuroo’s cheek.

Smart-ass autopilot engages flawlessly, and Kuroo finds himself leaning back to pant up at Daichi. “Really?”

Daichi’s flushed face hangs overhead, temple digging into his arm, hand braced against the wall. He opens his eyes slowly to meet Kuroo’s gaze, one brow quirking his unspoken _what?_

“I’ve got your dick in my mouth and you can’t manage my first name,” Kuroo says. He smiles, small but sly, a cat anticipating the cream. “Cold, Sawamura.”

Daichi’s mouth curves like he’s about to laugh, but his voice comes steady and deep, eyes pinning Kuroo to the floor. “You’re one to talk, _Tetsurou_.”

And it’s disgusting how fucking sexy Kuroo finds this, disgusting how Daichi can’t even finish vocalizing his name before Kuroo’s jamming his dick in his mouth again because **_fuck_ **_that was_ ** _hot_** _._ He wants to come all over himself to the sound of Daichi saying his name.

Kuroo considers that he may be developing a fetish for Daichi’s voice. Also the entire rest of him.

_(please_

_please_

_more)_

He leans into Daichi again, softens his jaw, works his way down, but the angle’s wrong to get Daichi’s cock any further into his mouth than teasing the back of his throat. This won’t do.

So Kuroo encourages Daichi forward as he leans back onto his elbows again, shimmying his body further under Daichi’s hips so he can drop his head back and

f u c k

Daichi chokes on a gasp when his dick slides into Kuroo’s throat and Kuroo moans _so goddamn loud_ —he can’t help it.

_( **hot**_

_Daichi’s so hot_

_fuck)_

“Shit!” Daichi’s voice is tight with concern and he starts to pull back. Kuroo whines and flaps his hand against the underside of Daichi’s leg where it’s trapped, but Daichi misunderstands these signals. He takes his gorgeous dick out of Kuroo’s mouth and mumbles, “I’m so sorry,” forehead creasing with upset as he bends down to cup Kuroo’s face in gentle hands.

“ _Please_ ,” is all Kuroo can muster, “please.” He knows he’s pathetic and doesn’t care, but Daichi just stares at him in confusion until Kuroo opens his mouth again and lets his tongue hang down to his chin, the clearest nonverbal signal he can think of for _please for the love of god plunge your dick down my throat_.

Daichi hesitates, eyes tracing over his face. Kuroo holds his mouth open, silently beckoning—he has to look like a total dweeb, but Daichi is still too troubled to appreciate it.

Daichi releases a long exhale, traps his bottom lip between his teeth, strokes Kuroo’s cheek with his thumb again. Kuroo leans into the touch, gazing up with hooded eyes until Daichi moves back in front of him. He trails his eyes down Daichi’s body to watch him jerk himself back to full hardness—it doesn’t take long, but Kuroo wonders idly why he needs to.

_(you gotta suck better, motherfucker!)_

“Are you sure?” Daichi’s voice is rough but Kuroo ignores him, letting his actions answer loud and proud as he tilts his head forward to lick up the underside of Daichi’s dick. This earns him a choked-off moan, and Kuroo treats Daichi to another sassy tongue flick before hanging his jaw open again.

Daichi’s forehead is still engaged in that stress-crease, but he goes ahead with the indulgence. He braces against the wall, slips a steadying hand behind Kuroo’s neck and carefully guides his dick halfway into Kuroo’s mouth.

Kuroo relaxes, releasing a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He lets himself be spurred by the thrumming of Daichi’s pulse against his tongue and lightly taps his thigh, enticing him to slide the rest of the way in.

He does, and Kuroo’s eyes roll back. He tries to moan more quietly than last time, but doesn’t think he succeeds. He keeps his eyes on Daichi’s face long enough to see the crease in his forehead slacken with pleasure, eyes going dark and soft as his breathing increases, and then Kuroo lets his brain cells scatter to the wind as he gives himself over to the eroticism of getting his face tenderly fucked by the guy he’s in love with.

Kuroo’s surprisingly comfortable like this.

The breathing is a little tricky to get down, but that’s not unexpected for his first go at deep-throating. Kuroo distantly feels very impressed with his lack of gag reflex, though things might be different if Daichi were to get rough with him— _oh_ , there’s an idea… Not right now though. Kuroo’s dick is throbbing wickedly, his boxers are soaked, and he’s already pretty blissed out. That might send him into a fucking ecstasy coma.

_(Daichi’s so fucking hot_

_and I am such a loser)_

Daichi’s tempo is slow and steady. He’s muffling his low groaning against his arm. Kuroo lazily engages his tongue, sliding it around under the swollen cock filling his mouth, which nets a jerk of Daichi’s hips and a deliciously sharp grunt. He meets Kuroo’s nearly-closed eyes, panting.

“Fuck… Ku—“ he catches himself, “Tetsurou,” pants, groans, “ _Tetsurou._ ”

Daichi’s saying his name like he’s tasting it and suddenly Kuroo feels like he’s wound up so tight he’s going to shatter. The cold drip of a new realization snakes down his spine.

He’s such a fucking idiot.

There are tears rolling down his cheeks now. Concern flashes in Daichi’s eyes, but he correctly interprets Kuroo’s continued relaxation against his supporting hand as permission—a plea—to keep going. He pulls his lower lip between his teeth again and Kuroo wants to soothe it for him because he’s fine, really.

It’s just that he’s the biggest fucking idiot in the universe for seducing the guy he didn’t realize he was in love with while they’re both drunk at a fucking volleyball training camp.

And now he’s having to deal with his huge idiot feelings in secret because he’s not ready to get his heart broken, because there’s no way Daichi feels the same—it just doesn’t make sense.

Daichi’s amazing. _Amazing_. He’s strong and steady and relentlessly supportive of the people he cares about.

And Kuroo expends way too much energy portraying himself as a big cocky shithead to cover up his inherent lameness.

His careful personality curation is biting him in the ass big-time.

_(ain’t that just the way)_

But… the fangs piercing him now are nothing compared to the agony wreathed around walking away from this moment.

_(ain’t that just_

_the mother_

_fuckin’_

_way)_

So Kuroo hangs there in Daichi’s hand and lets the tears escape while there’s a very firm excuse for not explaining himself lodged in his throat—if the dam is already cracked, better to unleash the flood in this more private setting than, say, the middle of a set or the cafeteria. Somehow his heartache is making the sensation of Daichi’s thickness sliding against the back of his throat even sweeter, a precious memory to cherish and forlornly jack off to for years to come.

Daichi’s pace starts to pick up. He’s still biting his lip and staring hazily into Kuroo’s eyes, but he’s moaning now, flush riding high on his cheeks. Kuroo moans with him, throat hugging his beautiful cock, tears flowing freely, and he’s so happy and so sad and _so fucking turned on_ —training camp is proving to be an extremely thorough learning experience.

Daichi’s hand is tightening around the back of his neck, breath coming faster and faster. “I’m, I’m gonna..” he says, tone verging on desperate. Kuroo slides his hand up against the underside of Daichi’s thigh and holds it, pressing intentions into the tense muscle through his fingertips so Daichi doesn’t get any ideas about backing away.

This is probably going to be the only time in his life he gets to savor Sawamura Daichi, and Kuroo wants every drop.

He gazes up, nudging his tongue against the base, watching brief question flit across Daichi’s face before the nearness of his orgasm pulls his brows heavy over his eyes, pleasure contorting his face to a grimace. He’s especially handsome like this, and Kuroo memorizes the way Daichi’s brows contract as he growls out a low _“fuck”_ and empties himself down Kuroo’s throat.

_(holy mother_

_of_ **_fuck_ ** _)_

Kuroo moans. On reflection, he’d probably be happy being Sawamura Daichi’s personal cum dumpster for the rest of his pitiful life. This seems like yet another realization that should be far more shocking as it washes over him.

Daichi’s thigh turns to steel under Kuroo’s fingers. He’s trembling, ostensibly struggling to restrain himself from subjecting Kuroo to some of the vicious face-plowing he’s secretly praying for. Kuroo swallows around him as languorously as possible, and Daichi jerks in his throat.

“K-, Te- _Tetsurou_ ,” he pants, “you.. you’re…” He leans his forehead against his arm on the wall and heaves for breath, “Holy _shit_.”

Kuroo has to pull away to find his own air, coughing. Daichi’s still holding his head and supports him shakily while Kuroo wiggle-scoots enough to prop his shoulders against the wall. “It’s true,” he rasps, “I am the holiest shit you will ever meet.”

Daichi lets out a hoarse laugh. He shuffles back a little on his knees, wobbling his shorts back up before he settles on Kuroo’s thighs. Kuroo momentarily enjoys the grounding presence of Daichi’s award-worthy ass on his lap before he realizes the accumulated physical evidence of his own enjoyment is on very obvious display between them. Embarrassment smacks him upside the head. He refuses to look down at himself and risk drawing Daichi’s eyes to it— _it_ being his prominent boxer-tent, still weathering a veritable monsoon of precum—but Daichi sees the terror in his expression.

He leans in with a soft kiss, murmuring, “Hey, you okay?” against Kuroo’s mouth. Kuroo nods and Daichi deepens the kiss briefly, a sweet slip of tongue that makes Kuroo melt up into him.

Then Daichi’s hand smoothes up the underside of his clothed dick and Kuroo jumps like he’s being electrocuted, head thunking against the wall. He rubs the back of his head with a groan, wincing more out of embarrassment than actual pain. Daichi immediately backs off his dick, but his other hand comes up to cup Kuroo’s cheek. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I should’ve asked first.”

Kuroo snorts and wraps a hand around Daichi’s neck, shoving his face forward to capture Daichi’s mouth in a passionate—if sloppy—kiss. “You’re fine, Sawamura,” he says in a breath between kisses, trying to inject confidence into his tone, “ _I’m_ fine.”

And he is. The guy he’s secretly in love with still wants to touch him even though he’s already gotten off. Kuroo could fucking _fly_.

But he might fly right the fuck off the deep end if Daichi does actually touch him.

If Kuroo’s not careful, he’ll be spilling his deepest secrets while his cock spills all over Daichi’s hand, or maybe _in his mouth_ oh _fuck_ —panic sings through him again. A spastic profession of love is almost inevitable if Daichi actually puts his mouth on Kuroo’s dick.

“Are you sure?” Daichi sounds doubtful, concern clear in his eyes. Kuroo can’t blame him, he’s giving very mixed signals right now. 

Wise-ass autopilot attempts to come to his rescue. Kuroo cracks a grin and says, “Guess I’m just kinda bashful after rocking your fuckin’ world.”

This cocky quip reveals more of Kuroo’s inner emotional turmoil than he’d anticipated, but the corner of Daichi’s mouth curls up, eyes going dark as he leans in. “That you did,” he murmurs and sweeps his tongue into Kuroo’s mouth, searing him to the core.

Kuroo moans and lets Daichi lead, shaky fingers making touchdown on the flesh of Daichi’s beautifully solid thighs. He’s desperate for something to ground him, because gravity as he knows it is losing meaning. Sawamura Daichi is destroying the foundations of physics with every powerful curl of his tongue. Kuroo never even had a chance.

He releases a whiny little gasp when Daichi tips his head back, pants shallowly through his nose as Daichi plumbs the depths of his mouth. He momentarily feels like he’s starting to get a handle on this sensual ordeal until Daichi sucks on his tongue and he fucking _whimpers_.

_(fuck oh fuck_

_I’m in so much trouble)_

Daichi smiles against him and pulls away to look Kuroo in the eye. His gaze is very warm. “You rocked my world,” he says softly, “and I made you cry. Now I want to make you feel good.”

An utterly sincere mountain range sprouts out of nowhere and sends Kuroo’s autopilot spiraling into the stratosphere. “U-uh,” he chokes out, suavity incarnate.

Daichi leans down, brushes airy kisses and words over Kuroo’s lips. “What do you think?” He feathers kisses across Kuroo’s cheek, skims them down his neck, “That sound good to you?”

Kuroo’s already stretching his neck to the side so Daichi’s lips have more room to roam, eyes fluttering closed. “Um, yeah,” he breathes, “yeah, good is a, a word I’d use.”

Daichi hums and traces Kuroo’s pulse with a wide swipe of his tongue.

“Oh _fuck_ you, Sawamura,” Kuroo grits out and yanks Daichi’s face to his. Daichi laughs into his mouth. Kuroo pulls back, affecting a half-assed scowl. “You fucking suck.”

Daichi gives him a deadpan stare. “That is the goal, yes,” he says, and Kuroo wants to punch him. He does so with his mouth. Daichi laughs again because he’s a huge jerk and Kuroo never wants to stop kissing him again. Then Daichi’s hand slips under the hem of Kuroo’s shirt, tracing aimless patterns on the skin of his hip, and slips down into his boxers, wrapping around his erection firmly enough to make Kuroo gasp.

“But first,” Daichi says. His voice takes on a new edge, and his eyes rake over Kuroo’s face like he wants to devour him, “I wanna hear you say my name.”

Kuroo would consider it if he had any air in his lungs, but his heart is unhelpfully blocking his windpipe.

_(this man is going to kill me_

_but hot damn_

_what a way to go)_

“Come on,” Daichi says. He holds Kuroo’s gaze, kisses him oh so softly, tempts him with a plaintive suck of his bottom lip and leans back when Kuroo leans forward for more—“Let me hear it. Say my name, _Tetsurou_.”

Kuroo’s heart sputters and squeezes alarmingly. Sawamura Daichi is officially hazardous to his health.

“What’s my name?” Daichi asks, voice a low murmur. This time he slides his thumb up the underside of Kuroo’s dick, rightly predicting the sharp moan this elicits and catching it with his mouth, kissing Kuroo hard as he strokes him.

Kuroo’s hands have traveled up to bury themselves in Daichi’s hair without him noticing, embedding themselves in the short strands. He’s weak, so _so_ weak.

“Say it,” Daichi whispers. He’s breathing almost as hard as Kuroo is. His eyes are hot, and Kuroo is done for.

“ _Daichi_ ,” he breathes, and then Daichi’s tongue is back in his mouth on another sinful mission to dissolve Kuroo’s brain. It leaks out his ears along with any resolve he had to prevent this scenario from unfolding, the scenario where Daichi’s kissing the daylights out of him and wiggling his boxers down over his hips and pulling his dick out of their sticky confines and panting against his chest as he scoots down and then Kuroo’s frozen.

His hands are still in Daichi’s hair, Daichi’s panting against him, and Kuroo knows without looking that he’s seconds away from heaven, only heaven feels a little too close to hell right now.

Because this is hell—slowly strangling in the harsh ties of one-sided feelings, desperately groping for a tiny sip of relief with the full knowledge that relief is ultimately empty pleasure with a thoroughly unrequited love.

Worse, the unrequited love is good-hearted and generous and will kill Kuroo in the kindest way possible because he truly cares about him… just not in quite the same way.

He’s pulled from his thoughts by Daichi’s lips, achingly soft against the tender skin of his low belly.

Kuroo almost wants to cry again, because this is the kind of moment he daydreams about—the messy perfection that leaves lasting marks—and Daichi’s cheek is rubbing against his dick while he massages kisses into Kuroo’s trembling flesh, and he can’t take it anymore.

Fuck it.

If this is all he can have, he’ll throw himself into the fire. At least he’ll be going out on a high note. Not just anybody can say they’ve been sucked off by Sawamura Daichi.

“D- _Daichi_ ,” he says, gently scratching Daichi’s scalp, “stop t-teasing me, you f-f- _fuck_.”

He knows Daichi will interpret it in the immediate physical sense and miss the undertone of lovelorn pleading, but there’s something odd about how Daichi’s lips curve against him, caressing the skin under his belly button sluggishly. “But it’s fun,” he says, husky voice buzzing through Kuroo’s nerves. He sucks on the skin he’s been weaving gentle kisses over.

Kuroo feels himself unraveling at the sensation of Daichi’s lips and teeth moving in tandem. His dick feels like it’s going to explode, which has been a constant all night; hopefully there’s no permanent damage occurring. Either way, he’s leaking yet more precum all over Daichi’s neck because Daichi has maintained physical contact with his erection the whole time he’s been down there, and Kuroo doesn’t know what the hell he did to deserve this lusciously drawn-out torture.

When Daichi finally lifts away from his stomach, Kuroo chances a glance down. Daichi has left a very noticeable mark. This is frustrating in multiple ways.

“You ass,” Kuroo grates, breathy because his heart is rave-dancing, “How the hell am I gonna hide that?” He gestures vaguely, trying so hard to play normal, “Don’t know if you’ve noticed the training camp happening, but it’s kinda hard to avoid group bathing right now.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” Daichi says. His grin doesn’t look the tiniest bit sorry.

Kuroo bares his teeth at him. “Fuck off.”

Daichi places a chaste kiss at the base of Kuroo’s shaft and says, “Nah,” before kissing up the side and sinking his mouth onto Kuroo’s cock.

Kuroo shoves a fist in his mouth so he doesn’t wake up the whole fucking building, but he can’t really stop the guttural sob that wrings from his throat

because holy fire is burning his dick, his heart—his _soul_ —from the inside out

because heaven and hell are one and the same, and weak human flesh isn’t meant to survive either one

because _this_ is what it means to see God

and Kuroo is deeply human

and so, so weak.

Except Sawamura Daichi is the divine being responsible for this religious experience. And he happens to be very attuned to sounds of distress, so of course he removes his mouth from Kuroo’s dick immediately to use it for the tired function of checking on him, but Kuroo’s too far gone. He digs his fingers into Daichi’s hair, flexing his hips up as he pulls him down against his cock.

Daichi’s panting is fast, beating against Kuroo’s overheated skin like a fucking sex metronome, inciting him to writhe up and rub his dick pitifully over Daichi’s mouth, begging wordlessly because he’s forgotten everything resembling human speech.

And Daichi sucks him down again with a rich groan Kuroo feels in his bones.

Kuroo’s entire focus is the tantalizing pressure of Daichi’s hot mouth, tongue wreaking just as much havoc swirling around Kuroo’s cock as it does when it’s taking over his mouth, and thinks

_(would it be so bad if I said it_

_just once_

_real quiet)_

Kuroo’s thighs flex painfully as Daichi pulls up with some heavy suction, popping off to slide the flat of his tongue up and down the underside of Kuroo’s dick, breath hot and heavy.

_(no no I can’t_

_I’ll ruin everything)_

But the treacherous phrase is a hot coal on his tongue, glowing hotter the longer he holds it back.

_(keep your fucking mouth shut_

_for once in your goddamn life)_

Daichi is rubbing the pad of his thumb in small irresistible circles under the head of Kuroo’s cock. He licks up the shaft again and slicks his thumb over the weeping slit, panting over him, “Does this feel good?”

Kuroo grits his teeth and tries to glare at him, but only manages a fucked-out flutter of eyelashes. Of course it feels good. He’s clearly losing his fucking mind, _good_ is the most basic way to describe the delicious agony he’s going through right now.

But if he speaks, he’ll say the three words that will bring everything crashing down. So he shoves Daichi’s handsome face back into his crotch and growls like an animal. Daichi laughs against him, and it’s gruff and sexy, and Kuroo knows that if he wasn’t wrestling with his own emotional bullshit right now, he’d have cum all over Daichi’s face that instant.

_(fuck_

_I’m so fucked_

_I hate myself)_

Then Daichi’s mouth surrounds him again. He moves his head slowly, working his tongue around and humming softly. Kuroo kind of wants to cry yet again, but he only has himself to blame for them being in this position.

_(I hate myself_

_but I love Daichi)_

Daichi’s dick magic is strong, swirling Kuroo close to the precipice far too soon, but he’s not fighting the drag to the edge anymore. He’s focused on capturing the image of Daichi’s head bobbing up and down in his lap to keep him warm during the long, lonely nights ahead.

_(why am I such a huge loser_

_and why is he so fucking good at this_

_oh fuck_

_wait_

_fuck_

**_fuck_** _)_

“Daichi,” Kuroo chokes. He pushes at Daichi’s head, trying to get him out of detonation range.

Daichi removes his mouth from Kuroo’s throbbing dick, but hovers over it. He jerks Kuroo mercilessly, holding his gaze with half-lidded eyes. “Say it, say my name again,” he murmurs hoarsely.

When Kuroo splutters at him, Daichi leans down again and smears the tip of his tongue over the sensitive spot under the head of his cock, eyes intent on Kuroo’s face.

And maybe Kuroo stammers out a “ _fu-uck Dai_ ** _chi_** _”_ , or maybe it’s just garbled nonsense, he’s too busy shooting cum all over his stomach to focus on anything else.

The comedown feels a little surreal. Kuroo convulses limply, grateful that Daichi’s weighing down his legs so he can’t flail around. The wall still feels solid behind his head, so at least he didn’t orgasm-spasm hard enough to put a hole through the dry-wall (because, like, good luck bullshitting your way around _that_ explanation).

He stares at the window across the room without really looking at it.

_(well that’s all she wrote_

_it’s over)_

Then another spike of pleasure sings through his gut and his abs clench painfully because Daichi—beautiful amazing Daichi—is lazing his tongue over Kuroo’s softening dick with tentative short strokes. He takes Kuroo into his mouth again and sucks him clean with agonizing gentleness. Kuroo can’t do anything but choke on his own air and run his fingers through Daichi’s hair, employing body language Daichi won’t understand because Kuroo’s the only one who knows that the paths of his fingers spell out _I love you_ over and over.

Daichi pulls his mouth away again. He says, “Your shirt didn’t make it.”

“Figures,” Kuroo says. He feels boneless and sad.

“Take it off,” Daichi says.

Kuroo’s gaze snaps to his face, but Daichi isn’t looking at him. He’s wiping a hand on his shorts and reaching out to grab his own crumpled shirt. He meets Kuroo’s eyes as he fluffs it. “You can wear mine, I don’t sleep in a shirt anyway.”

“Me neither,” Kuroo whispers, but he’s already sitting up to carefully pull his shirt over his head. Daichi tugs it out of his hands as soon as he’s got it off.

He folds the wet section in on itself and uses a dry section to wipe Kuroo’s torso off. Kuroo feels his cheeks heat when Daichi mops the area directly around his flaccid cock, but Daichi ignores his mortification, dabbing at his pubic hair and down between his thighs.

“Looks like your boxers took a hit too,” Daichi muses, “but you’re gonna have to live with that until you get to your gear.”

“Yeah,” Kuroo mumbles. Daichi doesn’t seem inclined to move from his current position of trapping Kuroo’s ankles, so he lays back against the wall to peel his gross boxers back up. He’s honestly not sure why Daichi bothered cleaning him up, but at least he’ll feel fresher when he gets to change. Much as he’d love a good long sob-fest under a hot shower, that kind of behavior might raise some eyebrows at a sports training camp.

He notices Daichi watching him with careful eyes and wonders if it’s because he’s doing a shit job hiding his misery. 

Daichi grabs his shirt, and drapes it across Kuroo’s middle. “It’s clean still,” he says, voice soft.

And Kuroo’s a fucking lovesick sap, so he levers his torso upright and pulls the t-shirt on. Daichi’s been wearing it just long enough for it to smell like his skin, with maybe the slightest tinge of booze.

But it’ll probably just smell like Kuroo by morning.

This thought saddens him so much he feels his eyes prickling again.

_(sure, cry more, you sad piece of shit_

_that’ll get him to grow feelings for you)_

As this poisonous thought crawls through Kuroo’s brain, he feels a hand cupping his cheek and looks up. He’s staring at a well-muscled chest. Daichi has crept back to where he was sitting before.

Kuroo’s spine goes rigid. He doesn’t know what’s happening.

“Talk to me,” Daichi says, so close.

Kuroo shivers. He wants to, _oh_ he wants to. Daichi’s thumb brushes his cheek. “Tetsurou, please,” he murmurs, so warm.

_(fuck_

_don’t say my name_

_not like that)_

Daichi tilts his face up. Kuroo is too weak to deny him.

And he’s too weak to deny himself one final sorry indiscretion.

Daichi doesn’t flinch or startle away when Kuroo sits up straighter and slips his hands around the back of his neck. He doesn’t resist when Kuroo pulls him close enough for their noses to touch. And when Kuroo closes his eyes and leans in to find Daichi’s lips with his, it almost feels like Daichi meets him in the middle.

Kuroo fully intends to kiss Daichi for no more than 10 seconds, but Daichi seems to have other ideas. Moments after their lips settle together, his are moving, massaging Kuroo’s mouth into pliancy, and Kuroo immediately falters in his countdown. It feels so natural to let his lips part against Daichi’s and receive that talented tongue in his mouth—sweet fuck, that tongue makes Kuroo want to do so many bad things, over and over, forever.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed when Daichi pulls away, finally crawling off him to grab the half-full bottle of Aperol they’ve been neglecting and take a huge slug. Kuroo has no idea how to take this until Daichi half-turns back looking distinctly sheepish.

“Sorry,” he says, “I, uh, needed to cool off.” He scratches at the back of his head and laughs gently, meeting Kuroo’s gaze with an awkward smile. “Can’t keep you here all night, after all. We’ve got training in a few hours.”

Kuroo stares at him blankly. Cool off?

Daichi’s eyes skate down Kuroo’s figure. A subtle upward tweak of the awkward smile turns him back into the sex god Kuroo’s been worshipping all night. He holds the bottle out. “Looks like you could use some cooling off too.”

Kuroo blinks and realizes he’s hard as diamond again—literally _how_. He growls and tips bitter down his throat. It reminds him of Daichi’s tongue in his mouth, which is somewhat counterintuitive to the being-less-erect issue.

“Water would be more helpful, I think,” Kuroo mumbles. He doesn’t look at Daichi as he stands up and tucks his dick in his waistband, but chances a discreet glance when he stoops to pick up his balled-up shirt.

Daichi is on the other side of the room squinting around at the floor. “Any idea where the cap for this might be?”

“Weren’t you the one that opened it?” Kuroo asks. His voice almost sounds normal. He makes a concerted effort to tamp down on the brutal fondness welling up as he watches Daichi fumble around.

Daichi pauses where he’s groping blindly under a chair. “Oh. Right.”

“Did you seriously forget?” Kuroo sniggers in spite of himself. “How drunk are you, numb-nuts?”

Daichi glowers at him. “I’m not drunk, my brain is just tired.” He crouches to grab the cap, right next to where he was sitting before.

“Uh-huh,” Kuroo says, “A likely excuse.”

Daichi grumbles as he twists the lid on the liquor. He stalks back over and presses it into Kuroo’s chest, brows at a dangerous angle, growling, “Not. Drunk.” Then the danger shifts and Daichi gives him a grin so evil Kuroo feels like he should take notes. “You’re right about my nuts, though.”

Kuroo’s jaw clenches and Daichi laughs. “Anyway, would you mind stashing this for the walk back?” he asks, smile gentling again, “Since I don’t really have anywhere to hide it.” He holds his arms open, like Kuroo’s somehow unaware of the delectably naked state of his torso.

Kuroo manages to grit out a “sure”. The feeling that he’s missing something hovers in the back of his mind again, but Daichi’s eyes are still crinkled up with amusement at his expense, which makes it hard to think.

He stuffs the bottle under his shirt and follows Daichi into the dim hallway. They creep back to the sleeping floor. Nekoma and Karasuno are bunked in rooms right next door to each other; Kuroo’s anticipating a silent wave, a smile, and a door quietly shutting in his face after he hands the bottle off. But Daichi takes the bottle from him and holds his hand up, a simple _wait here._

He disappears for half a minute, then reappears with a water bottle in his hand. He shakes it— _empty_ —then points back down the hall with it— _gotta fill up_ , ostensibly—then closes the door behind him, giving Kuroo a very clear _come on_ tilt of his head as he passes.

Kuroo wanders in his wake. For some reason, Daichi walks past the bathrooms and heads for the sinks in the school lobby. Kuroo watches as he fills the bottle, drains it, then refills it and holds it out. “Down it. We’ve gotta rehydrate,” he says quietly.

Kuroo swallows. He’s still holding his cum-filled shirt. “No shit,” he rasps and chugs it. He passes the bottle back, and Daichi restarts the cycle.

When they’ve both downed two bottles of water, Daichi downs a third, refills, and twists the lid on. He pushes it into Kuroo’s chest.

“Hopefully that’ll last you the few hours till we have to be up.”

Kuroo nods vaguely. He’d probably be fine without it, but Daichi’s giving Kuroo a look that says _listen to your captain and take the water_.

He’s not his captain (in _any_ sense), but Kuroo listens anyway.

Daichi walks beside him as they head back to their rooms, and Kuroo feels like he’s having an out-of-body experience when Daichi walks past his own room, hand out like he’s going to get Kuroo’s door for him.

Kuroo stops dead in his tracks, because he’s definitely missing something. It’s too dark in this part of the hall to get a read on Daichi’s expression, but he looks like he’s chewing his lip.

“Are you okay?” Kuroo whispers. He’s not sure what else to say because he truly has no idea what’s going on.

Daichi nods. Then he squares his shoulders, turns to Kuroo, and steps in close. Kuroo has a spare moment to register that Daichi’s looking up into his face now. He’d forgotten that he’s got five inches on him. Vertical height isn’t all that noticeable when two people are tangled up on the floor.

“Sleep well,” Daichi whispers.

He leans up and kisses Kuroo softly on the mouth, warm lips lingering on Kuroo’s for a few moments, plenty long enough to scramble Kuroo’s brain right to hell (again). Then Daichi pulls back, smiles, opens Kuroo’s door for him, and ushers him inside with a gentle hand on his back. Normally Kuroo would protest this kind of treatment or at least shove a middle finger in Daichi’s face for the principle of the thing, but he doesn’t on account of the brain-scrambling.

Daichi closes the door silently without waiting for Kuroo to turn around. He stands there for a beat, then heads straight to his bag and stuffs his nasty shirt down to the bottom. He shimmies into a new pair of boxers and crawls into his futon, shoving his head under his pillow like usual.

Everyone seems to be sleeping pretty soundly, so he could probably get in another quiet cry if he needs to. He might. This night felt like a weird and wonderful dream, but dreams have to end sometime.

Kuroo takes a deep breath, exhales, and closes his eyes.

They fly back open.

_(hold up)_

Daichi kissed him. Just now. Safely away from heat-of-the-moment horniness, Daichi _kissed_ him _._

 _(hold the_ ** _motherfucking_** **_phone_** _)_

Daichi _… kissed_ ** _him?_**

_(_ **_what_ **

**_THE FUCK_ ** _)_

**Author's Note:**

> please don’t try to drink this hard before doing hours of heavy training, these boys are professionals 
> 
> professional idiots ayyyyyyyy
> 
> also can’t say I recommend drinking a bunch of Aperol straight from the bottle, but you do you
> 
> also there will be a second part to this, but I’m not sure when. I need to recover from this one first.
> 
> come yell at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/perilouslips)


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